The Golden Years
by CinderellaAtTheBall
Summary: A series of unrelated drabbles that take place during the Trio era - 1. Justin knew it was going to be a bad day when he ran into Draco Malfoy and his cronies on his way to breakfast - 2. George completes a dare from Fred - 3. Neville is anxious about his Herbology grade - 4. Fleur is determined to prove herself during the Triwizard Tournament - 5. Roger prepares for the Yule Ball
1. Not Like Them

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments - Term 11, Assignment 6: **Notable Witches & Wizards, Task #4: write about one of the following Muggle-born characters (Justin Finch-Fletchley) receiving prejudice or hatred for their blood status. **_

_Warning: this fic contains bullying, descriptions of violence/physical abuse/beating._

* * *

**Not Like Them**

Justin knew that it was going to be a bad day when he encountered Malfoy and his cronies on the way to breakfast one morning. Crabbe and Goyle immediately blocked off the stairs with their bulky bodies while their leader stood in front of them, arms crossed. Justin knew that this didn't bode well for him — he had heard stories of Malfoy's nefarious acts towards other students — and he thought about returning to the safety of the common room just before Malfoy spoke.

"Finch-Fletchley," the blond sneered, "how nice of you to join us this morning."

"I don't want any trouble, Malfoy," Justin said quietly, cursing the fact that he had left for breakfast before most of his fellow Hufflepuffs. He had wanted to ask Professor Sprout a question about Devil's Snare before he ate some of the delicious Hogwarts food, but now, he thought he might be lucky if he even made it to breakfast. Despite being only a first-year, Malfoy had a fearsome reputation. Even older students were frightened of him.

"Trouble? There's no trouble here," Malfoy smirked. "We aren't causing trouble, are we, Goyle?"

Goyle, who was the slightly larger of his two beefy companions, only grunted. Malfoy's smirk widened.

"You see, Finch-Fletchley, you don't belong here," he drawled. "Mudbloods like you are ruining our society."

Justin didn't like the name Malfoy called him, nor the emphasis he placed on the word "our." As far as he was concerned, he had as much right to be at Hogwarts as anyone else, regardless of who his parents were.

"I got my letter, same as you," he said, reaching for his wand — not to fight, but to defend himself from whatever Malfoy might have in store for him. He was too slow, however. Malfoy had already drawn his own and shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Justin felt his limbs snap together and his gaze lock straight ahead. Unable to keep his balance, he fell over, snacking his head against the stone floor. His eyes watered, but he wouldn't give Malfoy the satisfaction of making him cry. Praying that a sore head would be the worst of his injuries that day, he heard, rather than saw, the three Slytherins approach his prone form.

"What're we going to do with him?" Crabbe — he thought it was Crabbe — whispered.

He imagined Malfoy rolling his eyes as he replied, "Honestly, Crabbe, you act as though you've never done this before. Just do what you usually do."

Justin's eyes widened in panic and his heart began to beat faster when he heard Crabbe let out a sinister giggle.

"Don't worry, Mudblood. I promise it won't hurt...much," the thug said gleefully.

_Crunch_.

A searing pain radiated down his leg, and it was worse than anything he had ever felt before. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. All he could do was hope that the beating would be over soon.

_Crunch_.

Now it was his other leg that was causing him extreme agony. He could no longer control his tears, which had begun to leak from his eyes in an almost constant flow. Goyle's face loomed above him for a moment before—

_Wham_.

Justin felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him and he struggled to draw in air to fill his lungs.

"That's what you get for talking back," Malfoy hissed somewhere near his ear. He then proceeded to spit on him, and Justin wanted to shudder as the warm liquid hit his skin.

"That good, Malfoy?" Goyle asked.

"For now," the ringleader replied, an ominous note coloring his tone. "Anyway, let's go. I think I hear someone coming, and we need to get out of here before someone spots us."

Justin heard the trio depart and was filled with an overwhelming sense of relief, even as the pain threatened to overwhelm him.

This may have been the first time that he had been targeted for being a Muggle-born, but he knew that it wouldn't be the last.

He had a long seven years ahead of him.

* * *

Word count: 684


	2. Dares in the Dark

**MC4A**

**Fall Bingo: **A3 (pumpkin)

**Word count: **338

**Dares in the Dark**

"Of all the nights you could have dared me to streak through Hagrid's pumpkin patch, you had to pick this one?" George asked his twin. He shook his head, clenching his teeth together to keep them from chattering. "Unbelievable, you are. It's freezing out here!"

In fact, "freezing" seemed like a bit of an understatement. George had never felt so cold in his entire life, and he had to resist the urge to warm his naked nether regions with his hands, because that would have looked silly. Even if Fred — and the plethora of creatures that were in the Forbidden Forest — were the only witnesses to it.

Fred arranged his features into a look of innocence. "Is it cold out here? I hadn't noticed."

"Yeah, because you're clothed and I'm not," George grumbled, eyeing Fred's cloak enviously. He gazed up at the castle. "Do you reckon anyone will see me?"

"At this time of night — er, morning?" Fred corrected himself after a brief glance at his watch. "I doubt it. Anyway, you're stalling."

"Am not!" George protested with a shiver.

Fred smirked knowingly. "Are too. If you're too scared—"

"I'm not scared," George said quickly. He edged out of the forest and took a deep breath. Hagrid's hut was dark, but there was just enough moonlight to illuminate the pumpkin patch behind it. The massive orange gourds rose out of the darkness like sentinels. If he could just run the twenty feet or so, he would be free to put his clothes back on. The thought of being warm once more fueled his bravado. He just hoped that no one would see him...

...

"D'you know, I had the weirdest dream last night, George," Ron said thoughtfully, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "I dreamed I saw you running naked through the pumpkin patch down by Hagrid's."

Fred and George exchanged a look.

"Well, that's just barmy, little bro," Fred said, ruffling the younger Weasley's hair.

"Yeah," George agreed hastily, his face slightly flushed. "Totally nutters."

* * *

_A/N: I don't know how Ron would have been able to see George that well considering it was dark and he was far away, but...just go with it for the sake of humor._


	3. Best in Class

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments - Term 11, Assignment 7: __**Zoology, Task #9: write about someone at the top of their class.**_

_**Word count: 812**_

* * *

**Best in Class**

Neville shuffled into the greenhouse, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on his feet. Professor Sprout had infomed them during their last class that they would be receiving the marks from their essays on how to differentiate a Flitterbloom from Devil's Snare today. She would be grading them at O.W.L. level, she had said, which had only made Neville even more nervous. Although he enjoyed Herbology, he knew that he wasn't the best essay writer.

"Good afternoon, class," Professor Sprout said, smiling around at all of them. Neville hunched over slightly so as not to make eye contact with her. It felt hot, _too_ hot, in the greenhouse all of a sudden. Once he was sure Professor Sprout's eyes had swept past him, he busied himself with loosening his school tie. "As promised, I will be handing back your essays on Flitterbloom and Devil's Snare. Miss Brown!"

Neville licked his dry lips. It was an agonizing wait, listening to Professor Sprout call out the names of his classmates. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead and under his arms. Perhaps she was saving the worst for last.

Finally, there were only two names that hadn't been called: his and Hermione's. He swallowed hard and tried to mentally prepare himself for whatever humiliation awaited him.

"Mr. Longbottom!"

Neville gulped again. His feet suddenly seemed glued to the ground. He tried to order his legs to move, but to his utter embarrassment, they weren't listening to him. He wished a hole would open up and swallow him right then and there.

Ron gave him a little nudge. "Oi, Neville, are you going or what?"

Neville nodded and stepped forward, but ended up tripping on the hem of his robes and pitching forward, only just managing to catch himself on the edge of a worktable. A few people sniggered, and he felt his cheeks redden. This was not going to plan at all.

He stumbled towards his professor and meekly held out his hand. She smiled kindly at him. "Excellent work, Mr. Longbottom."

Neville blinked and gave her an uncertain smile in return. "Er, thanks?" He hurried back to his bag and stuffed the essay into it. He would look at it later, in the privacy of his dorm room.

Professor Sprout put them to work harvesting Bouncing Bulbs. As usual, Hannah Abbott sidled over and asked if she could work with him — and as usual, Neville blushed and nodded, shifting to the left to make room for her.

"How'd you do on the essay?" she asked a few minutes later. Her signature pigtails were in disarray, and her tongue was poking out between her teeth in concentration.

Neville shrugged. "Dunno. Didn't look." A thin layer of perspiration covered his face. True to their name, Bouncing Bulbs were quite bouncy, and did not enjoy being manhandled by the students. Secretly, though, Neville was just glad that they didn't secrete poison or something.

Hannah shot him an incredulous look, even as she held her wand up to one of the wriggling bulbs. "You didn't? _Incendio_!" The bulb immediately withered and was rendered harmless.

"What's the point, Hannah?" he sighed. "I'm not Hermione, writing essays isn't my strong suit."

"Yeah, but Herbology is," the Hufflepuff pointed out. "Come on, let's see it."

"I really don't think—" Neville began, but before he could stop her, Hannah had reached over and plucked the roll of parchment from his bag. "_Hannah_!" He lunged for his essay, but she had already unrolled it.

Her mouth fell open into a perfect "O" shape. "Neville," she whispered, "you got an Outstanding!"

Neville scoffed. "Yeah, right. Give me that."

She held it out, speechless. Neville's eyes flew to the top right-hand corner, where Professor Sprout had written a gigantic letter "O." His own jaw dropped.

"Ah, Mr. Longbottom, I see you and Miss Abbott have discovered your grade," Professor Sprout said pleasantly. He jumped — he hadn't heard her approach over the sounds of his classmates shouting spells at the Bouncing Bulbs and cursing loudly whenever the plants launched a particularly effective attack.

"Y—yes, Professor," he stuttered.

She smiled at him once more. "Your essay was remarkably detailed. It was a true joy to read."

Neville ducked his head and muttered that it hadn't been all that good.

"I disagree." Professor Sprout's tone was light, but Neville still felt as though he was being rebuked. "It was the best essay I received from any fourth-year."

Neville blushed again. "I'm sure Hermione's was better," he mumbled.

"Mr. Longbottom," Professor Sprout said, sounding stern now, "you have a real gift for Herbology. I daresay you could go all the way to N.E.W.T. level if you keep up the good work...and stop comparing yourself to Miss Granger."

Neville could feel the beginnings of a smile creep onto his face. "Yes, Professor."


	4. Never Underestimate a Fleur

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments - Term 11, Assignment 8: __**Foreign Exchange, Task #1: write about a witch or wizard who is viewed as inept. **_

**MC4A**

**Stacked with:** Hogwarts, Fall Bingo

**Individual Challenge(s):** Short Jog; Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux; Beauxbatons MC; Golden Times; Hola, Bonjour, Jambo; Old Shoes; Location, Location, Location!; Black Ribbon; Black Ribbon Redux

**Representation(s):** Fleur Delacour

**Bonus Challenge(s):** FPC (Not a Lamp); Not Commonwealth; LL (Professor's Torment); PP; SoC (Where Angels Fear); Fence; RoB; MLG

**Tertiary Bonus Challenge(s):** n/a

**Fall Bingo, Space Address (Prompt):**E2 (legacy)

**Word Count:** 1,043

_Notes: The dialogue is in English but everyone is speaking French. It would have been too difficult to do translations of everything and then have to explain what they were saying anyway. Also, a _bezant _is apparently the French wizarding currency. (Also also, did I spin this title from a Vanessa Hudgens song? Yes. Yes, I did.)_

* * *

**Never Underestimate a Fleur**

The sound of Monsieur Bagman's whistle sliced through the air. It was time.

Fleur drew her wand, heart pounding. In front of her lay the enormous lake — the Black Lake, as the Hogwarts students called it, which was entirely appropriate given its murky, impenetrable depths. Across the water, the onlookers applauded and cheered. She shivered. The chilly air nipped at her extremities, and she knew it would only be colder underwater. Still, she couldn't back down. She had to continue proving to everyone that she belonged in this tournament.

...

_Fleur walked back to the giant carriage alone, her thin silk robe pulled tightly around her. When her name had been read from the goblet, she thought that her fellow Beauxbatons students would be happy for her. Instead, they had burst into tears or sent her nasty looks. Now, she wasn't sure how she would face them. _

_She approached the carriage with her shoulders back and her head held high. She had attended school with these people for years. There was nothing to be afraid of. _

_Inside, it was — thankfully — quite warm. It was also dark — the other students had apparently turned in early. Fleur was heading towards her bed, thinking of her cozy, powder blue blankets, when the sound of urgent, hushed voices stopped her. _

_"What a joke! It should have been me, not _Fleur. _When has she ever shown any real skill?"_

_"I agree. She's just a pretty face. All beauty and no brains."_

_"She doesn't stand a chance. What an embarrassment." _

_Tears pricked at Fleur's eyes, and any hope of her classmates supporting her died quickly. She blinked several times to ward off the tears, then cleared her throat to announce her presence. The whispers immediately stopped. _

_"Good night," she said in as cheerful a voice as she could manage. _

_"Good night," a few voices murmured back. _

_Fleur lay in bed for hours, unable to sleep. Her classmates' doubts echoed in her head like a dissonant soundtrack. Maybe they were right. Maybe she shouldn't have been chosen._

...

Fleur cast a Bubble-Head Charm with ease. She had always been decent with charms, and she felt oddly smug as she set foot in the water. A moment later, however, her smugness was replaced by a numbing cold that erased all thoughts from her brain. All she could focus on was how _cold_ the water was. It felt as though hundreds of knives were stabbing into her submerged skin.

Through the bubble around her head, she could still hear the now-distorted shouts of the onlookers. A single thought returned: she only had one hour. She needed to get going, or risk putting herself and her school to shame...again.

...

_"Fleur did well today," Pierre said quietly, brushing a strand of brown hair out of his eyes. Fleur could have hugged him, except he didn't know that she was listening in on his conversation with Léa. The two were standing in front of the Beauxbatons carriage while she stood on the other side. _

_"She got past the dragon, yes, but she did not do so without trouble," Léa responded. Fleur narrowed her eyes at the blonde. _

_"Neither did anyone else," Pierre pointed out. Forget hugging him — Fleur wanted to kiss him for saying that. _

_"You don't actually think she has a chance of winning, do you?" Lea sounded angry now, and it took all of Fleur's self-restraint not to reveal herself, even as her hands curled themselves into fists at her side. _

_"I didn't at first," Pierre admitted, "but she has proven herself, has she not?"_

_Lea shook her head. "She will never be more than a pretty face, Pierre! She couldn't even make her Sleep Hex strong enough to keep the dragon asleep!"_

_Fleur had heard enough. "Surely you are aware that dragons are more difficult to bewitch due to their thick hide, Léa," she said loudly, stepping out from behind the carriage. The pair jumped, and she noticed with great satisfaction that Léa looked both guilty and uncomfortable. "And anyway, it was my name that was chosen, not yours. I earned my spot in this tournament, same as the others."_

_Later, Léa apologized for her comments, but since she refused to look Fleur in the eye, Fleur doubted her sincerity. Still, a fire had been kindled inside of her. She had let her classmates' doubts get the better of her. She would not do so again. _

...

It was beautiful beneath the water. The lake was teeming with more life than Fleur could have ever imagined — she swam past swaying kelp and tiny silver fish, vibrant green marshy grasses and even what appeared to be a baby kelpie. She floated over a large patch of glittering stones reminiscent of French _bezants_. There were enormous logs littered about like broken candles, too, and she wondered where they had come from since there didn't seem to be any trees down there. She swam downward, and soon the rays of sunlight that had pierced the water's surface could no longer reach her. Moving more cautiously now, she kept her eyes peeled for danger.

Suddenly, a small hand grabbed her foot, eliciting a shriek. She looked down — it was a grindylow. It bared its sharp teeth at her in a sinister grin. Frightened, she kicked and struggled, but another hand had already latched onto her other foot. Then another. And another. Before long, there were too many to fight off. Fleur sagged, resigned to her fate.

Maybe Léa was right. Maybe she wasn't skilled enough for this.

...

The judges awarded Fleur twenty-five points. That was far better than the zero she felt she deserved, but still put her squarely in last place. With one task left to go, though, she tried to remain optimistic.

Hugging Gabrielle close to her chest, she murmured, "I will not give up without a fight. I will make our family proud."

She didn't know what the third task would entail, but she decided then and there that she was going to do everything in her power to prepare for it, from practicing her repertoire of charms to working on her physical strength. Léa and the others would be sorry they ever doubted her, she would make sure of that.


	5. Yule Ball Prep

**Yule Ball Prep**

Roger paced in front of the mirror, hands nervously smoothing down his Hogwarts robes. He had to do this just right or else he was going to make a fool out of himself. Normally, he wouldn't have been so anxious, but it wasn't like he was preparing to ask any old girl to the ball. He was going to ask _Fleur Delacour_, Beauxbatons champion and the most enchanting, beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on. Her silvery blonde hair featured in all of his daydreams, and her piercing blue eyes were the last thing he thought about before he fell asleep.

Yes, Roger was determined not to mess this up. Unlikely though it might be that Fleur would say yes, he had to try, or else he would always have regrets.

"Beautiful goddess," he said, looking directly into the mirror and pretending that it was Fleur herself, "it would be an honor to go to the ball with you."

He grimaced and ran a hand through his sandy-colored hair. That sounded too desperate. Fleur would not respond well to desperation, he was sure of that.

"Miss Delacour," he said, this time deepening his voice and sticking his chest out ever so slightly, "I've been thinking: what do you say to attending the Yule Ball with me, as my date?"

That was far too long-winded — Fleur would probably walk away before he even had a chance to finish! He had seen her snub many potential suitors that way before.

"Focus, Davies," he told himself, swinging his arms the way he might during a Quidditch warmup. "This girl is different — _special_. You're in the big leagues now."

After another minute of psyching himself up, Roger was ready to try again.

"Fleur," he said, sounding more confident than he had the previous two attempts, "would you do me the honor of being my date for the ball?"

There. That was succinct and to the point. Now he just had to practice it until he had it down perfectly.

He just hoped that she would say yes.

* * *

Word count: 346


	6. What Might Have Been

_A/N: This fic contains obvious canon divergence. _

_Warning: Greyback's his usual creepy self, but I don't think there's anything particularly graphic._

* * *

**What Might Have Been **

Lavender stumbles backward, breath caught in her throat. Around her, piles of rubble threaten to send her sprawling to the ground. The air is slightly hazy, as though someone has just stirred up an enormous cloud of dust. Spells are being cast at top speed, and the overlap of so many shouting voices along with the deafening crashes of the castle walls collapsing is enough to give her a headache.

A headache is the least of her worries, however.

Fenrir Greyback stalks toward her, fangs bared. The sight of blood dripping down his chin makes her want to throw up.

"Hello, gorgeous," he growls, his lips curling up in a devious smile. The simple act sends a shiver down Lavender's spine.

"_Stupefy_!" she cries. The spell glances off of Greyback, and she belatedly remembers that a simple Stunning spell won't work on him. "Er, _Impedimenta_!" This spell likewise has no real effect on the predator, and Lavender begins to sweat profusely. He's only ten paces away now.

"Lavender!" a voice screams.

She flicks her eyes to the right even as she continues to back away from Greyback. Parvati is scaling the wreckage to get to her, and Lavender's fear dissipates slightly. She and Parvati had been fighting together but were forced to split up at the last minute when part of a wall came down between them. Now, as her friend moves towards her, she feels a faint glimmer of hope. Maybe if the two of them cast spells at the same time, they'll be able to overpower the werewolf.

"Oh, no, you don't, girlie," Greyback snarls. He raises his wand and hits Parvati with a powerful Knockback Jinx, blasting her off her feet as if she is nothing more than an irritating fly. The girl slumps to the ground, dazed.

Lavender gulps. A quick look around reveals that everyone is too engulfed in their own battles to help her. She's on her own. "_Expelliarmus_!" she shrieks, and is shocked when the wand goes flying out of Greyback's hand.

Unfortunately, this doesn't deter him.

"I don't need a wand to hurt you, sweetheart," he says, flexing his fingers menacingly. There is a hunger in his eyes that Lavender knows will only end when his fangs have sunk into her warm flesh—

She falls, and a whimper escapes her lips even as she comes to terms with the fact that there is no hope for her. Greyback is close enough that she can smell the coppery scent of blood on his breath. This is the end.

She closes her eyes and sends up a quick prayer that all of her friends will make it. Especially Parvati.

Greyback throws back his head and lets out a chilling howl. "How I love the taste of young, supple flesh," he rasps. His gaze travels down to her neck and he licks his lips slowly. Lavender shudders and looks away, unintentionally exposing more of her creamy skin to him.

Suddenly, a loud _bang_ erupts and Greyback is thrown backward into the marble banister. Just as he begins to get up, a crystal ball smashes onto his head with a sickening _crunch_, stilling him. Lavender scrambles to her feet and nods her thanks to Professor Trelawney.

"Alright there, Lavender?" Ron yells, and she smiles shakily.

"Yeah," she calls back. "Thanks for getting that—that _maniac_ away from me!"

"That was all Hermione!" He grins proudly at the brunette, and Lavender's heart clenches ever so slightly at the dopey look on his face.

"Thanks, Hermione!" she shouts, and then — without waiting for a response — she begins to dodge the flying spells and hunks of stone in order to reach her fallen friend. As she darts through the wreckage and chaos, she can't help but think about how lucky she was to escape Greyback unscathed. She and Parvati need to do a better job of sticking together if they're going to survive this battle.

* * *

Word count: 657


	7. A Very Important Delivery

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments - Term 11, Assignment 8: __**Anatomy and Physiology, Task #1: write about someone traveling with something important. **_

_A/N: After much_ _thought, I decided it made the most sense for Hagrid to take the Hogwarts Express to Hogwarts. Every other method was either not possible for Hagrid, or too risky considering what he's delivering._

* * *

**A Very Important Delivery**

Hagrid stood on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, shifting his weight from foot to foot. After a quick glance around, he deduced that no one was overly interested in his presence, and breathed a sigh of relief. It didn't seem as though he'd been followed.

The brown-paper package inside his giant overcoat was neither particularly large nor particularly heavy, yet its importance was such that he could not ignore its existence. He kept snaking his hand into his pocket just to be sure it was really there. Dumbledore had entrusted its protection to him, and he took that very seriously.

He hummed quietly to himself as he waited for the telltale whistle of the approaching train. A few minutes later, the Hogwarts Express stood before him in all its scarlet and black glory. Hagrid boarded quickly, awkwardly shuffling his way to an empty compartment. He tried to sit down carefully, but he still ended up rocking the entire train car. Once he was seated, he stretched out his legs as best he could and congratulated himself on being so close to finishing Dumbledore's mission.

...

_"Hagrid," Dumbledore said, peering over his spectacles at him. "I do believe I have a task for you."_

_Hagrid stood up as straight as he could, unable to keep his face from breaking into a delighted smile. "I'd do anythin' for yeh, sir. Yeh know tha.'"_

_Dumbledore inclined his head. "Your loyalty is much appreciated." He paused for a moment before continuing, and Hagrid began to worry that the headmaster had changed his mind about the mission. "What I'm about to tell you is highly classified information. I trust that you won't share it with anyone."_

_"No' a soul, Professor Dumbledore, sir," Hagrid said eagerly. "Cross me heart." _

_"There is a package in Gringotts, Vault 713, that contains the life's work of my dear friend Mr. Nicholas Flamel," Dumbledore began. "It needs to be transferred here, to Hogwarts, so that it can remain safe..."_

...

Hagrid kept his pink umbrella within reach the entire train ride. It was carefully laid out on the seat next to him so that he could grab it at a moment's notice. Dumbledore had told him to keep an eye out for Death Eaters — though he didn't think there was any way they would know about the Stone being moved — but the most exciting thing that happened was the trolley lady coming by with her assortment of sweets. Hagrid bought a pack of Licorice Wands, which he slowly nibbled on as the trip wore on.

He had been tempted to spend the journey sleeping, but he knew that he couldn't — his cargo was too precious. Instead, he pulled out his knitting needles and continued to work on his yellow blanket. At some point, it began to rain, and the sound of raindrops pattering on the roof provided a nice ambience while he knitted.

It was early evening by the time the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station. Hagrid exited the train quickly, much preferring the solid, unmoving ground to that of the train. After rummaging in his pocket once more to reassure himself that the Stone was still there, he strode towards the gates of Hogwarts with great purpose.

The walk around the Black Lake seemed to take longer than usual, though Hagrid wasn't sure why. It wasn't as though he expected Death Eaters to attack him right under Dumbledore's nose. They wouldn't dare. Still, he gripped his pink umbrella tightly as he walked. It was easily a quarter of an hour before he reached the castle doors, and another ten minutes before he — puffing and panting in a manner reminiscent of Fang — reached the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office.

"Fudge Flies," he wheezed, clutching at his chest. The gargoyle sprang to the side and Hagrid stepped onto the moving staircase. Once outside the office door, he paused for a moment to catch his breath — and check on the package one final time — before knocking.

A moment later, he heard Dumbledore say, "Come in."

Hagrid opened the door and stepped inside. "I have the package, Professor Dumbledore, sir," he said proudly, presenting the object without further delay. He set it down on the headmaster's desk with great care, then stood back to await Dumbledore's reaction.

Much to Hagrid's disappointment, Dumbledore did not open the package immediately. Instead, he clapped his hands together, his eyes twinkling. "Excellent, Hagrid, thank you. You have provided an invaluable service."

Hagrid's chest swelled with pride. "It was an honor, sir."

* * *

Word count: 755


	8. The DA Digest

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments - Term 11, Assignment 8: __**Extinct Languages, Task #2: write about a writer.**_

_Word count: 964_

_Brief mentions of stuff that happened during the Carrows' reign at Hogwarts._

* * *

**The **_**D.A. Digest**_

"Ginny," Neville whispered, waving to her from a corner of the common room. She frowned and headed over to the small wooden table he had commandeered. His face was unreadable in the shadows where the firelight didn't quite reach.

"What's up, Neville?" she asked quietly.

"Well, it's just... I've been thinking. About D.A. stuff, you know," Neville began.

Ginny nodded. "Yeah, what about it?"

"What if we had some kind of... newsletter?"

Ginny wasn't sure what she had been expecting Neville to say, but it certainly hadn't been that. She chewed her lip in thought. "A newsletter?" she asked at last.

"Yeah, just something to, I don't know, spread the word about how students can resist the new regime. Less risky than getting caught painting supportive messages, isn't it?" Neville pointed out. Ginny thought she saw him wince — like her, he was probably remembering what had happened to him when he had been caught the first time. The Carrows had tortured him so badly that he couldn't walk properly for nearly a week.

"That's...not a bad idea, Neville, but how are we going to distribute it? And who's going to write for it?" Ginny felt bad for asking such pointed questions, but this had to be thought through.

"Distribution's easy, we can hand it out to people we know will want to read it, and charm the parchment to wipe itself or self-destruct once they're finished reading," Neville answered without a moment's hesitation. "As for who's going to write for it...well, I thought maybe _you_ could do that."

Ginny didn't know whether it was exhaustion or fear or just the sheer ridiculousness of Neville's idea, but before she knew it, she was bent over double, laughing. "Oh, Neville," she said, wiping a tear from her eye, "that's a good one. Me, write for an underground newsletter!"

Neville looked hurt and more than a little bewildered. "Why not, Gin? You're very persuasive, and I'll bet you'd inject some of that famous Ginny Weasley humor..."

"I'm not a good writer, though," Ginny protested feebly. That wasn't even taking into account what might happen if the Carrows figured out what they were doing. She was sure they could come up with punishments even more severe than having students practice the Cruciatus Curse on each other.

Neville shrugged. "Who cares? People just want something to believe in, you know? You could do that, Ginny. You could provide a voice of—of encouragement and hope," he said, looking more somber than she had ever seen him.

Ginny sighed. "I'll...think about it, alright?" She patted his shoulder and walked slowly up to her dorm room, still contemplating the many ways this could go wrong.

...

In the end, Ginny agreed to write an article or two. She told herself — jokingly — it was because she was slowly losing her mind. In reality, it was because she wanted to feel like she was doing more to help the resistance.

It took her a long time to actually write anything, however. Her mind was occupied with worry for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. What were they up to now? When would she see them again? Did Harry still do that adorable hair-flattening thing—

She shook her head and forced herself to stop twirling her quill between her fingers. This article wasn't going to write itself. She just needed to dip the quill into the inkpot, and write..._something_. It didn't have to be perfect. There would be time for edits later.

She nodded decisively, dipped her quill in ink, and began to write. The sound of her quill scratching against the parchment was soothing, and she soon fell into a sort of rhythm: _scratch-scratch-scratch, scratch-scratch-scratch. _After a while, she was so focused on her words that she wasn't paying any attention to her worries.

...

Several hours and pieces of parchment later, Ginny was finally satisfied with what she had written. She had read it aloud, first to herself and then to Neville, made the appropriate changes, and added a few sentences here and there. Her hand was cramping from the effort and her hair was falling out of its ponytail, but she didn't care. She was finished, and with any luck, her call to action would inspire more people to join the cause.

She climbed the stairs to the boys' dormitory two steps at a time. "Neville," she panted, "I've done it!" She waved the parchment, which was covered in scribbles and crossed-out lines, in his face.

He snatched it from her, scanned it, then grinned. "Well _done_, Ginny!"

...

The first issue of the _D.A. Digest_ — name courtesy of Luna — had been out for all of one day when Michael Corner approached Ginny at dinner. He leaned casually onto his elbow and flicked her hair. She glared at him before tossing her hair to the other side of her neck where he couldn't reach it.

"What are you doing, Michael?"

"Just stopping by to tell you how much I enjoyed the _Digest_," he replied smoothly. "Luna mentioned you'd done most of the writing."

"Got it. Thanks." When he remained seated next to her, she let out a huff. "Can I help you with something else?"

"Your writing was really good, Gin," he said earnestly. "It...it made me want to do something—to stand up to _them_ too, you know? So I wanted to thank you for that. Sincerely."

"You're welcome, now go back to your table before the Carrows decide we're hatching some kind of crazy plan," Ginny hissed, turning back to her plate.

As Michael walked off, however, she smiled. Maybe Neville was right. Maybe this newsletter would give people something they could believe in. And maybe...maybe she wasn't such a bad writer either.

* * *

_A/N: We actually hear about the aftermath of Michael's bit in canon - Neville says Michael got caught releasing a chained-up first year. This is my take on what spurred him to do that, aside from his general D.A. affiliation. _


	9. Yule Ball Envy

**MC4A**

**Ship (Team): **Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom

**List (Prompt): **n/a

**Word Count:** 690

* * *

**Yule Ball Envy**

Ginny Weasley looked absolutely beautiful.

Hannah couldn't take her eyes off the other girl, who was clad in a lilac dress with delicate straps and a full skirt. Her red hair was softly curled around her face. She looked like a princess from the fairytale books Hannah's mum used to read to her — the kind of girl Hannah had always longed to feel like.

Granted, she wouldn't have minded Ginny looking so pretty if it weren't for the fact that her date was Neville Longbottom. Despite the fact that they frequently partnered up in Herbology, Hannah didn't know what she was to him. She had hoped that he at least considered her a friend, but apparently he preferred the company of someone from his own house.

"Is that...Ginny Weasley?" Justin asked, sounding far too awed for Hannah's liking.

"I suppose so," she said, tearing her eyes away from the redhead and turning back to her date. But now Justin's gaze was fixed on Ginny, too. She tugged his hand. "Come on, Justin, let's dance!"

"I—sure," Justin said distractedly, following her onto the dance floor.

The Weird Sisters were playing an upbeat song, and Hannah let herself get lost in the music for a few minutes. When the song ended, she found herself mere feet from her crush. He was trying hard not to trod on Ginny's feet, and for a moment, she almost felt sorry for the girl. When Ginny laughed and placed her hand on Neville's arm, however, Hannah's pity evaporated and she decided that Ginny was holding her own just fine.

"Do you think they're a couple now?" Justin nodded over at Neville and Ginny. Hannah felt her face grow red.

"I doubt it," she said, more sharply than she had intended. "I don't think Ginny is really Neville's type."

Her date tilted his head at her. "Are you alright, Hannah? You look flushed."

"I'm fine," she said automatically, casting around for a plausible excuse. "I'm just...a little warm. I should get something to drink."

"Right. I'll just...I'll be here waiting, I suppose," Justin called after her.

It didn't take long for Hannah to reach the drinks table. After a quick internal debate about which drink would make her look more cool, she grabbed a bottle of butterbeer and took a long swig. The icy liquid cooled her insides immediately, and she could feel the heat in her cheeks residing, too. She gulped down a little more as she watched her fellow students twirl and gallivant about. She had never seen the Great Hall awash with such a wide range of colors. Everywhere she looked, she could see vivid hues.

She closed her eyes, trying to commit the scene to memory. Someone cleared their throat behind her, however, startling her into opening them again. It was Neville.

He smiled shyly at her. "Alright there, Hannah?"

"Erm, yes, just enjoying my drink," she said, holding up her bottle and taking another sip.

Neville nodded. "That's good. Where's Justin?"

"Justin?" she repeated. Neville looked at her as though she had just grown a second head.

"Yeah, Justin, your—your date?" he said awkwardly.

"Oh. Right. He's, erm...right over there." Hannah found him and pointed him out to Neville. He was doing some odd dance in unison with Ernie Macmillan. "He's... he's having fun without me, I guess. Where's Ginny gotten to, then?"

He blushed and stared at the ground. "She's gone off to dance with that Ravenclaw bloke Michael Corner. I guess they're friends or something. And she wasn't exactly having fun dancing with me."

"Her loss," Hannah said softly, setting down her now-empty bottle.

Neville head snapped up and his eyes locked onto hers. "You really think so?"

Hannah struggled to even out her breathing. "I—yes," she said earnestly. "Yes, I do."

Neville smiled more widely at her and held out his hand. "Then would you care to dance with me, Hannah?"

A sudden warmth flooded through her, and it didn't seem to have anything to do with the butterbeer she had just consumed. "I would love to, Neville," she replied, clasping their hands together.


	10. Sharing the Pitch

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments - Term 11, Assignment 9: __**Charms, Task #4: write about enemies who must share something or work together to achieve a goal.**_

**MC4A**

**Space Address (Prompt):** C5 (dusk/sunset)

**Word Count:** 665

_Note: this takes place during Harry's third year, when Cedric became Captain. _

* * *

**Sharing the Pitch**

Oliver shouldered his broomstick and walked out onto the Quidditch pitch with the swagger of someone who knows they're in a place where they shine. The next moment he had stopped short, frowning. Despite the late hour, a lone figure was circling the pitch. Squinting, he thought he could make out a flash of yellow. His frown grew even deeper. A _Hufflepuff_ was out here during his flying time?

The figure flew closer and when they were overhead, Oliver realized with a start that it was Cedric Diggory. He quickly straddled his broom and kicked off, soaring upward until he was level with the other boy. Diggory noticed and stopped circling, clearly waiting for him to catch up.

"Hullo, Wood," he said with a smile that was far too friendly for Oliver's liking.

"Diggory," Oliver said curtly. Unlike much of the female population of Hogwarts, he wasn't swayed by the boy's charming smile. "Who told you I'd be here?"

Diggory gaped at him, and Oliver tried to judge how authentic this reaction was. "No one told me, I just wanted to get some flying in," he answered at last. "Is that a problem?"

"It is if you're going to be spying on me," Oliver countered.

"Spying?" Diggory _sounded_ surprised, but Oliver narrowed his eyes at the Hufflepuff nonetheless. "Why would I be spying on you?"

"Why do you think?" Oliver hissed. Maybe Fred was right about Diggory — maybe he _was_ thick. Either that or he was incredibly naive. One didn't usually become team captain by being either of those things, but maybe Diggory had been the best candidate Hufflepuff had to offer. When Diggory didn't answer his question, Oliver elaborated, "To get the jump on Gryffindor in the next match, of course."

There was no mistaking the shocked look in Diggory's eyes now, unless he was a far better actor than Oliver imagined he would be. "Look, Wood," he said slowly, "I came out here to clear my head, not act as a spy for Hufflepuff. I swear."

"Right," Oliver scoffed, still unwilling to admit he might have been wrong about Diggory's intentions.

"You don't have to believe me." Diggory shrugged. "I'm staying, though."

"Fine," Oliver said through gritted teeth. "Just...stick to the other end of the pitch, would you? And if I make out so much as a quill on your person, I'll be having a word with your Head of House."

"Noted," Diggory replied. His voice had lost some of its earlier friendliness, and Oliver was beginning to think that he might have underestimated him. He was certainly no pushover, and he seemed genuine enough...

With a respectful nod in Diggory's direction, Oliver zoomed off towards the nearest goalposts and began to zig-zag back and forth.

He wasn't sure what had caused him to accuse Diggory of spying — after all, it wasn't as though he had come to practice any plays. He just liked to soar around the empty pitch, enjoying the wind in his hair and the swooping feeling in his stomach. Angelina had once said that he needed to fly like a fish needed to breathe underwater, and he felt like that was an apt description of his relationship with flying.

Oliver kept an eye on Diggory as he continued to fly to and fro. As far as he could tell in what little light remained, however, the Hufflepuff wasn't paying him much attention. _"I came out here to clear my head,"_ he had said. But what would a popular bloke like Diggory possibly be escaping from? His many admirers?

Oliver snorted, then shook his head. He was here to enjoy the sensations of flying, not contemplate what Diggory might be thinking about.

He pushed Diggory's presence out of his mind as best he could, then urged his broom to go faster. If he had to share the pitch with a Quidditch rival, so be it. Perhaps he could use this as an opportunity to intimidate the competition.


	11. An Unexpected Outcome

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments - Term 11, Assignment 9: __**Beauty Therapy, Task #9: write about someone who feels like they can't breathe. **_

_Word count: 505_

* * *

**An Unexpected Outcome**

"Patil, Parvati!" Professor McGonagall called.

Padma watched from the Ravenclaw table as her sister hurried forward and slipped the Sorting Hat onto her head. It slid down over her eyes just as it had Padma's. Padma leaned forward, held her breath, and waited — waited for the Hat to sort her twin into Ravenclaw alongside her. Even if she wasn't entirely sure the house suited Parvati, there was no way her twin could go anywhere else—

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table burst into cheers, but Padma barely heard any of it. Her palms had grown sweaty and she was suddenly unable to draw air into her lungs because her sister was not in Ravenclaw with her and she didn't know how to deal—

"Is that your sister?" the dark-haired first-year sitting next to her asked. His voice sounded far away, like he was talking to her through a wall of glass.

Padma nodded mutely, choosing to stare down at her empty gold plate instead of making eye contact with him. She was sure that her eyes would betray the turmoil she was currently experiencing.

She wasn't used to being without Parvati. Although they were rather different, there had never been many opportunities for them to be apart. Now, they were in different houses, and that was an outcome Padma had not allowed herself to consider.

She realized now that she had been a fool not to.

She wasn't prepared for this, and that was what terrified her the most. Padma Patil didn't do unprepared. That was more Parvati's style.

Professor Dumbledore said some odd assortment of words that Padma was barely listening to and food appeared before her. She stabbed at a piece of chicken but found that she had lost her appetite. With a sigh, she looked over at the Gryffindor table. Her eyes widened when she saw Parvati having what appeared to be a spirited conversation with the blonde-haired girl who had been sorted first — Lavender, she remembered.

Padma's eyes stung. As usual, her sister was having no trouble at all making friends. She told herself that she shouldn't be so hurt by something that wasn't Parvati's fault, but she was. Was this what she had to look forward to for seven more years? Envious glances across the Great Hall while her sister carried on with her new life, blissfully unaware of Padma's suffering?

"Hey." The boy next to her cut into her pity party. "Padma, right? I'm Michael."

Padma forced herself to smile at him. "Nice to meet you, Michael."

Michael Corner was nice enough, but he wasn't Parvati. Still, the logical side of Padma reasoned, maybe this was a good thing. This would require her to make her own friends. Find her own way. It seemed daunting, but if her sister could do it, why couldn't she?

Padma gave Parvati one final glance before turning back to the Ravenclaw table. These were her people now, and she was just going to have to get used to that as best she could.


	12. Before the Battle

**MC4A**

**Ship (Team):** Katie Bell/Oliver Wood

**List (Prompt):** Summer Big List (handholding)

**Word Count: **527

* * *

**Before the Battle **

Oliver gripped Katie's hand as they walked through the passageway behind the portrait in the Hog's Head. The tunnel was lit only by the occasional lamp, and a few times he found himself stumbling over the uneven floor. After what felt like an eternity, they rounded a corner, went up the awaiting stairs, and climbed through the door at the top of them.

Once inside, Oliver looked around. "What is this place?"

Katie shrugged and waved at Angelina and Alicia. "Angie! Leesh!" The two former Chasers hurried over and enveloped Katie in a hug. Oliver looked on, amused, until they pulled him into the hug, too.

After a quick exchange of pleasantries, Oliver learned that they were in the Room of Requirement, and that although they had just missed Harry, he would hopefully be back soon so that they could begin the fight.

"So this room becomes...whatever you want it to be?" Oliver asked, gazing around at the hammocks and tapestries contained within. His eyes fell on a couple of broomsticks, and he eyed them longingly.

Angelina nodded. "That's what Neville told us. Amazing, right?"

"Wow." Oliver nudged his girlfriend. "Pity we didn't know about this place when we were students here, eh, Katie? Might have saved us from having to sneak around in some awkward places."

Katie elbowed him, blushing furiously. "I think we managed alright without it."

"I'll say," Alicia chimed in. "I can't even remember how many times Angie and I almost walked in on you two in the changing rooms!" She looked over at Angelina and the two of them burst out laughing.

"Shut up," Katie muttered. She turned to Oliver and squeezed his hand. "You ready for this?"

It was a simple question, but Oliver could tell that it was loaded with meaning. He took her other hand and drew her away from their still-giggling friends. "As ready as I'll ever be," he said softly. "Are you?"

She bit her lip. "I thought I was, but I... I'm scared, Oliver. I'm so scared." She sounded so small, so vulnerable, that Oliver's heart broke a little.

"I'm scared too," he admitted. He didn't know how this would end. He could lose his life or be seriously injured. Worse still, he might survive while all of his friends died. But he knew that he had to fight — it was as natural a reflex as flying. He wasn't the type to sit back and not help. "This is the right thing to do, though, Katie. We'd never be able to live with ourselves if we didn't do our part."

"You're right," she said, smiling shakily. "And who knows? Maybe we'll all get through this alright."

Oliver cupped her chin in his hands and kissed her gently. He didn't care that their friends — not to mention the rest of the room — could see. For all he knew, this was the last time he would ever get to do so. "Maybe."

A moment later, a cheer broke out, and Oliver looked around, startled. Harry had returned, an oddly confused expression on his face.

Oliver's fingers wrapped reflexively around his wand. It was time.


	13. Trophy Room Musings

**Trophy Room Musings**

Ron snuck away to the Trophy Room after Divination, hoping to clear his head. It was the one place he could think of that was quiet and out of the way and rarely visited by other students. Of course, once he was there, he had to actively work to not look at the names on the various awards and cups. He didn't want to stumble across any Weasley names on them. That would only make him feel worse than he already did.

Stupid Harry, Ron thought as he slid down the wall and onto the floor. Why did he always get all the attention, the glory, the _worship_? It wasn't fair. Ron's unwavering support and assistance was never acknowledged. And now Harry was competing in the Triwizard Tournament, somehow. It all just seemed far too convenient. For a bloke that claimed to hate the spotlight, he sure got his fair share of it.

Ron scuffed his shoe against the floor and sighed, thinking of the upcoming Christmas holidays. He couldn't avoid Harry forever, but the thought of being trapped in the castle with him was almost too much to bear. How could he enjoy the scrumptious meals and reprieve from schoolwork when he would have to face his former best friend every night at bedtime?

Ron grew more and more agitated until he finally decided to let out some of his restless energy. He got to his feet and began to weave in and out of the glass cases, keeping his gaze firmly averted from the trophies themselves. Every so often, a metallic glint of silver or gold would catch his eye, taunting him, but he didn't give in to temptation.

After a quarter of an hour of pacing, during which time he tried his very hardest _not_ to think about the great Harry Potter, he realized he ought to head to dinner. His stomach rumbled loudly at the thought, and he smiled down at it.

At least some things would never change.

* * *

Word count: 333


	14. Valentine's Day Dread

_Note: this takes place during third year, when Hermione took all those extra classes. _

* * *

**Valentine's Day Dread**

Hermione loathed Valentine's Day at Hogwarts. She wasn't completely opposed to the holiday, but at school, it was always so...garish. The Great Hall was decked out with pink everything, clashing with the house banners in a manner than made her eyes water. The rest of the castle was equally nightmarish — the portraits and suits of armor might recite poems at unsuspecting students, and the confetti drifting down from the ceilings often got into students' eyes. And then there was the behavior of the students themselves — snogging in the corridors, planning magnificent gestures that only served to embarrass rather than impress...the list went on. Truly, it was a horrendous holiday and Hermione wanted nothing to do with it.

She plopped down onto a bench at breakfast and crossed her arms.

"What's got you so grumpy this morning, Hermione?" Ron asked, sparing her only a quick glance before piling food onto his plate.

She huffed and gestured at the pink streamers above their heads. "It's Valentine's Day, Ron, or hadn't you noticed?"

Her friend's face took on a puzzled expression. "What's wrong with Valentine's Day? I thought girls liked that lovey-dovey stuff."

"I'm not even going to address the fact that you seem to think all girls are the same," Hermione sniffed, turning to Harry. The dark-haired boy seemed to understand that the topic of Valentine's Day was a touchy one, and promptly began to talk about the latest Potions essay.

Hermione was grateful for the subject change, and she immediately launched into an explanation of common and uncommon antidotes. Harry nodded as he chewed, Ron merely scarfed down his food without giving any indication that he was listening at all.

Ginny came over and sat next to her just as she was wrapping up her lecture. "Happy Valentine's Day, Hermione, Ron." She peeked over at Harry and blushed. "Happy Valentine's Day, Harry."

Harry's cheeks reddened as well. "Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Ginny," he mumbled.

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. What was it about this holiday that turned everyone into complete and utter imbeciles? "Happy Valentine's Day," she told the younger girl in what she hoped was a kind voice. She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. "I've got to get to class, but I'll hopefully see you lot at lunch."

"Hopefully...?" Ron began.

"No time to explain now, Ron," she snapped. "I've got about a million things to do today and I don't have time to walk you through every little detail of my life."

With that, she hurried out of the Great Hall, but not before she heard Ron say to Harry, "Blimey, you'd think she'd lighten up a little on Valentine's Day, wouldn't you?"

Hermione sighed. She couldn't wait for the day to be over.

* * *

Word count: 465


	15. Determined to Win

**Determined to Win**

Minerva stared out the window at the Quidditch pitch and sighed. Quidditch matches had been downright unbearable the past few years, seeing as other houses—usually Slytherin—kept winning the coveted Cup. Gryffindor's last match in particular had been a total fiasco, and she had done her best to put it out of her mind.

This year, however, Minerva McGonagall had her sights on a Gryffindor win.

She knew that Oliver Wood was an excellent choice for Captain. The boy was quite at home on a broomstick, and a Quidditch fiend to boot. Minerva had watched him spend countless hours on the pitch—sometimes even after-hours—but she pretended not to know about that.

Yes, Minerva was feeling rather good about Gryffindor's chances this year, except for the pesky fact that Charlie Weasley had just graduated, leaving the team in need of a very good Seeker.

She selected a blank sheet of parchment and a quill and wrote a quick note asking for Wood to come to her office. The boy was probably at lunch with his friends, but this couldn't wait. After folding the parchment and charming it to reach its intended reader, she sat back in her desk chair and waited.

Minutes later, Minerva heard footsteps outside her office door. "Come in," she called, before Wood even had a chance to knock.

Wood entered carrying a sandwich, which he hastily wrapped in a napkin and shoved into his bag. He all but flung himself onto the straight-backed chair in front of Minerva's desk before giving her a curious look. "What's this about, Professor?"

Minerva looked appraisingly at the burly fifth-year boy in front of her. "Mr. Wood, as you know, being Captain is an enormous responsibility. I trust that you are up to the task of helping Gryffindor beat Slytherin this year."

"Yes, Professor," Wood assured her. "I know how badly you want Gryffindor to win, Professor, and I won't let you down."

"I'm delighted to hear it, Mr. Wood," Minerva replied. "Now, I wonder if you might have any ideas as to a replacement Seeker? Perhaps a friend or younger student who has shown promising skill?"

Wood bit his lip and was silent for a few minutes. Just when Minerva was going to prompt him to respond, he said, "I suppose Tolley might be alright, although I'm not sure he's got the build for it. I can't really think of anyone else at the moment, but I'll let you know if any other names come up."

Minerva nodded. "I'm inclined to agree with you about Tolley, but I'll make note of him all the same. Thank you, Mr. Wood. You may go."

Oliver stood and gazed longingly out at the pitch. "Do you really think the Cup will be ours this year, Professor?"

Minerva pressed her lips together. "I certainly hope so, Mr. Wood. I certainly hope so."

* * *

Word count: 477


	16. Defending Harry Potter

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments - Term 11, Assignment 10: __**Ritual and Ceremonial Magic, Task #9: write about something that happens in the heat of the moment. **_

_Word count: 644_

_Beta'ed by the lovely Elizabeth! :)_

_Warning: contains very, very mild violence. _

* * *

**Defending Harry Potter**

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I was going to let it go. Truly, I was. I could hear your voices in my head: "It's not worth it, Colin," and, "They're so much bigger than you, Colin!" But I had to do _something_. I couldn't just stand by and let them make fun of my idol, Harry Potter. It just wouldn't have been right. Haven't you always taught me to stand up for my friends? Well, Harry isn't exactly my _friend_, but I promise it was the right thing to do. He's already got so much on his plate with being in the Triwizard Tournament (see my last letter for more details on that), the last thing he needs is for people to bully him. _

_Anyway, I've learned my lesson, I swear. You won't be getting any more owls from the school about me. _

_Love,_

_Colin_

_PS. Dennis is adjusting to Hogwarts very well! More on that next letter. _

Colin reread the letter and nodded. That would have to do.

...

_Earlier that day: _

_"Oi, Creevey, fancy a badge?" Malfoy asked. He leered at Colin, who tried his best to ignore the blond Slytherin. _

_"No, thanks," he muttered, clutching his bag to his chest and staring straight ahead. _

_"Aw, come on, Creevey," Pansy Parkinson said, her voice taunting and shrill. "You know you want one."_

_Colin reluctantly looked over and felt his hands curl into fists at the sight of the obnoxious Potter Stinks badges. "Harry Potter does _not _stink!"_

_Malfoy smirked. "Oh, that's right, I forgot. You _admire _Potter, don't you, Creevey?"_

_"Yeah, I do!" Colin said loudly. He drew himself up to his full height, which wasn't nearly as tall as he would have liked. "Harry Potter is—is one thousand times the wizard you'll ever be, Malfoy!"_

_Malfoy sniggered. "Crabbe, Goyle, are you hearing this little pipsqueak?" _

_They nodded. Crabbe took a step forward and grunted menacingly down at Colin, who gulped but stood his ground. He wasn't going to be intimidated by a bunch of bullies, even if they were a good bit larger than he was. Harry needed to know that someone was in his corner. _

_"All right, then," he said bravely. A few students had begun to gather, watching the scene unfold with great interest. No doubt they were wondering how a scrawny third-year was going to take down someone twice his size. That only fueled his bravado. "You want a piece of The Colin?"_

_Malfoy's cronies guffawed at him, but he didn't care. He summoned up every bit of anger that he could and swung his tiny fist through the air. Before he knew it, he had made contact with Crabbe's jaw._

_"Ow!" Colin shrieked, pulling his hand back and staring at his knuckles, which were already beginning to bruise. "Blimey, that _hurts_!"_

_Crabbe only grunted again, but this time it sounded like a noise of pain. Colin grinned triumphantly as Malfoy and his gang hurried off with their stacks of badges, looking scared. _

_"Mr. Creevey!"_

_The blood froze in Colin's veins as he figured out the real reason the Slytherins had made a quick getaway. It was Professor McGonagall, and she did _not _sound happy. _

...

Colin watched the barn owl fly away with his letter and sighed. Madam Pomfrey had fixed up his hand in a matter of minutes, but Professor McGonagall had yelled at him for what felt like forever, given him detention for a week, _and_ taken fifty points from Gryffindor for fighting. All because he had tried to defend Harry!

If only Harry knew the lengths to which Colin had gone to protect his reputation. Surely he would be impressed. Maybe he would even invite Colin to sit with him at dinner sometimes...

Colin practically ran down the stone steps of the Owlery. He needed to find Harry, pronto, and tell him all about his brave deed.


	17. The Halloween Troll

**The Halloween Troll**

Professor Quirrel's words hung in the air for a moment, and then panic set in amongst the students. Professor Dumbledore set off some fireworks, but the diversion did little to diminish the mayhem or Padma's growing fear. She felt her heart begin to race, and she quickly scanned the Gryffindor table for her twin. Parvati's face mirrored the terror that was surely present on her own. A troll? At Hogwarts?

But before Padma could think anymore about it, she was being pulled to her feet by an older Ravenclaw.

"Come on!" the girl said, pointing towards the entrance to the Great Hall. "Follow Penelope — she's got that bright hat on — up to Ravenclaw Tower!"

Padma locked her eyes on the festive orange hat and began to follow the throngs of students that spilled out into the corridor. A few of the live bats brought in for the celebration had flown out, too, eliciting some shrieks. Padma might have found it rather amusing if she hadn't been so scared.

As she made her way to the Entrance Hall, she became aware of a voice calling her name. With some difficulty, she twisted and saw Lavender Brown, her sister's best friend, squeezing through the masses to get to her.

"Lavender? Where's Parvati?" Padma demanded as soon as the other witch was at her side.

"She's fine," Lavender panted. "She fell behind but I told her I'd make sure you were alright."

"Well, thanks for doing that," Padma said awkwardly. "You can tell her I'm fine, too."

Lavender patted her shoulder in response and disappeared back into the crowd.

...

Progress towards Ravenclaw Tower was slow until the hordes of students began splitting off to head towards their various common rooms. Padma quickened her pace, hoping to put as much distance between herself and the troll as possible.

Her thoughts drifted back to Parvati. She was worried about her, despite Lavender's report. What if something happened to her on the way to Gryffindor Tower?

Padma reached the top of the moving staircase and peered down. There was no sign of her sister, as far as she could tell. She sighed. Being in a different House, especially at a time like this, was difficult. She just wanted to know that Parvati was okay.

For the second time that day, she became aware of someone calling to her. This time, however, it was a male voice — belonging to fellow Ravenclaw first year Terry Boot.

"You alright, Padma?" he asked. "Blimey, can you believe it? A troll, here at Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, it's pretty incredible," Padma replied. "I do hope that Professor Dumbledore can get rid of it quickly."

"So do I," Terry nodded. "If anyone can, it's him."

"Right."

The two continued on to the common room in relative silence, a silence punctuated only by the occasional question about classwork or homework.

Once in Ravenclaw Tower, Padma bid Terry goodbye and headed to her dorm room, where she sank onto her bed. After a moment, she crossed to her trunk and pulled out a small glass marble. Her father had enchanted one for her and an identical one for Parvati, so that they could check in with each other. As long as Parvati was holding hers, and wasn't harmed in any way, it would glow green.

Padma closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, she let out a sigh of relief. The sphere in her hand was now bright green, signalling that Parvati really was fine.

Padma smiled. She could catch up with her twin tomorrow. For now, she was going to relax.

* * *

Word count: 605


	18. Welcome to Azkaban

_Writing for Hogwarts Challenges & Assignments - Term 13, Assignment 4: **Survival Skills - BYOB, Task #1: write about someone moving into a new home.**_

* * *

**Welcome to Azkaban**

The magical binds were so tight that he could feel them cutting into his wrists. A blindfold covered his eyes, blocking out the world around him. The air was cold, and imbued with a sense of hopelessness that made him tremble.

So _this_ was Azkaban.

He had heard tales, of course, but they had never quite managed to capture the pure despair that hung over the wizarding prison. It was heavy, suffocating.

And now this was his home.

He gulped and tried to keep his head high as the jeers and taunts reached his ears:

"Scum!"

"Another soul for the Dementors to feed on!"

"Welcome to hell, big man!"

After a few more minutes of walking, something small and pointy — a wand, he assumed — prodded his back, making him jump.

"To your right," said a sharp male voice.

He complied with the command, and his bindings and blindfold were removed at last. After blinking several times, he realized that having the blindfold off wasn't much different than wearing it — everything was still rather dark. Eventually, however, he was able to make out the objects in his cramped cell.

A folded beige blanket sat atop a small cot in one corner. Unfortunately, the cot didn't look as though it would accommodate his size, and a toilet in the opposite corner likewise looked like it might crumble under his weight. Aside from those things, there was nothing except for some dark grey walls.

While he had been busy trying to get his bearings, the metal door to his cell had clanged shut. It echoed with a sort of finality that made him shiver more than the oppressive atmosphere did.

"Enjoy your stay, Hagrid," the man said. He hesitated, then added, "A uniform will be brought to you shortly. There weren't any big enough for you on hand."

Hagrid merely nodded, unsure of what to say to that.

The man departed, and as his footsteps faded away, a Dementor floated by. It stopped outside of Hagrid's cell, rattling ominously, and the half-giant shuddered again. His head was suddenly crammed with bleak thoughts—no matter how hard he tried, he could not conjure up a single happy one. Finally, the Dementor moved on, and he let out a sigh of relief. Though he was fond of magical creatures, that was the one creature he couldn't find it in himself to appreciate.

Hagrid looked around the cell again, then grabbed the blanket from his cot. It was thin, but it would have to do. He spread the blanket onto the damp floor, curled up into a ball, and wept. Hopefully, Harry would soon figure out his clue and discover who had _really_ opened the Chamber of Secrets. He wasn't sure how long he could last in here.

* * *

Word count: 466


	19. and we keep living anyway

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges & Assignments - Term 13, Assignment 4: **Extinct Languages, Task #4: write about someone failing a test/exam/performance review at work. **_

_Word count: 591_

* * *

**and we keep living anyway**

Cho screwed her eyes shut and willed herself to concentrate on the parchment before her.

_Plop_.

She opened her eyes to find that a tear had escaped and fallen onto her exam. Quickly, she used the sleeve of her robe to blot it away, leaving a slight smudge of ink in its wake.

Peeking furtively around at her fellow students, all of whom appeared fully focused on their tests, Cho felt a pang of envy. How she longed to have nothing more than a Charms exam occupy her thoughts! Instead, she was haunted by the memory of her dead boyfriend. It just wasn't fair.

After several more minutes spent listening to quills scratching and classmates clearing throats, Cho had had enough. There was no way that she could complete the exam. As if stuck on an endless loop, her mind kept replaying the moment she saw Cedric's body lying still in the grass outside the maze...

She abruptly flipped her parchment over and grabbed her bag, dispelling the horrific mental image—though it would be back soon enough, she knew.

Professor Flitwick raised a bushy eyebrow at her as she headed to the classroom door. "Finished already, Miss Chang?" he squeaked.

"Yes," Cho lied, knowing that the rest of the class was probably listening in.

"Very well, Miss Chang, you may go." The old wizard smiled kindly at her.

Cho hurried back to Ravenclaw Tower and had herself a good cry.

...

"I'm passing back your exams," Professor Flitwick called. "I was pleased to see that many of you did very well, especially on the new Substantive Charm material."

Cho slumped a little in her seat. She knew that she wasn't one of the students Professor Flitwick was referring to.

The Ravenclaw head spent the next few minutes distributing assessments to the other students, and Cho watched as they smiled and exclaimed over their marks.

Suddenly, Professor Flitwick appeared at her side. He didn't have an exam for her, Cho noted.

"Miss Chang, may I speak with you after class?" He spoke quietly, for which Cho was quite grateful.

"Of course, Professor," she said.

...

Charms class was over and the classroom was empty except for Cho and her professor. She approached his desk tentatively.

"You wanted to speak with me, Professor?" she asked with as much bravery as she could muster.

"Ah, yes, Miss Chang," Professor Flitwick said. "I must say, I was most surprised by your incomplete exam."

Cho hung her head. "I'm sorry, Professor. I—I had other things on my mind."

"May I be so bold as to assume that those 'other things' involved Mr. Diggory?" her teacher asked gently.

Cho hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her. "How did you—"

"Let's just say that I am not unfamiliar with how grief works," Professor Flitwick said. He was smiling, but Cho thought there was a certain sadness in his eyes. "It may have been several months since Mr. Diggory's death, but it doesn't feel that way to you, correct?"

Her own eyes filled with tears. "It feels like it was just yesterday," she admitted, stifling a sob.

The wizard produced a crisp white handkerchief and handed it to her, politely looking away as she dabbed at her face. "Obviously, these are unusual circumstances, Miss Chang. I am willing to allow you to retake the exam at a future date, if that is amenable to you."

Cho wiped away the fresh batch of tears that had sprung up at her professor's kind offer. "That would be wonderful, Professor, thank you."


	20. Death in the Drawing Room

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges & Assignments - Term 13, Assignment 4: __**Flying Lessons, Task #2: Write about witnessing a death. **_

_Warning for canon character death. _

_Word count: 429_

* * *

**Death in the Drawing Room **

In the drawing room of his childhood home, Draco stared up at the body spinning slowly above his head. According to the Dark Lord, this was Muggle Studies professor Charity Burbage, but Draco had never crossed paths with her at Hogwarts. He thought perhaps he might have seen her in the Great Hall at meals, however.

Charity Burbage was a thin, older witch. Her blonde hair was greying, and her forest green robes were shabby and outdated. In fact, Draco thought that she looked rather more like a grandmother than a professor.

As she rotated over the shiny mahogany table, she sobbed and pleaded for her life, but all who were present ignored her cries. Even Professor Snape, her own colleague, refused to acknowledge her.

At some point, Draco accidentally made eye contact with the suspended witch, something that he had been hoping to avoid.

"Please," she mouthed to him, perhaps thinking that he would take pity on her where Snape had not. "Help me!"

Draco jerked his head away. The Dark Lord would see to it that she paid for her transgressions. There was no saving her now.

Sure enough, the Dark Lord performed the Killing Curse shortly thereafter. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the edge of his chair as green light flooded the room. There was a loud crash as the witch's body hit the table, and Draco flinched so badly that he ended up on the floor.

Slowly, he cracked his eyes open, only to be greeted by the sight of the dead woman almost immediately. She was so small, so _frail_, and her mouth was open in a silent scream that no one would ever hear.

The Dark Lord gave permission for his snake to eat the body, but Draco was barely listening by that point. Stomach churning, he stumbled to his feet and fled the room. He collapsed onto the cold tile floor of one of the ornate bathrooms and retched.

"Pull yourself together, Draco," he told himself, shivering slightly. He dreaded what might happen if his father found him in such a state, so he quickly stood and rinsed his mouth. Afterwards, he stared at his gaunt face in the mirror for a few minutes, wondering what had become of himself.

"Draco?"

His mother was calling for him. Draco straightened his spine and exited the bathroom in time to meet her just outside the door.

"There you are, Draco," Narcissa said. "Come now, we must return to the drawing room."

Draco nodded, schooling his features into an emotionless mask. "Of course."


	21. Ushering

**Ushering**

"_Bonjour_," Fred said loudly, holding an arm out to one of Fleur's beautiful, blonde, half-Veela cousins. "Allow me to escort you to the reception."

He attempted to mime his intentions as he spoke, and was surprised when the girl nodded. George had been skeptical about his ability to make the French girls understand him, yet he had succeeded on his very first try.

Fleur's cousin slipped her arm through his and lifted her pale purple dress in a single, fluid motion. The gracefulness with which she moved nearly took the redhead's breath away. He blinked and cleared his throat upon seeing her expectant expression.

"_Bon_," he declared, leading her towards the rows of chairs. He was careful not to take overly large steps, as he had noticed that she was wearing a pair of tall silver heels. "Er, I am Fred." He pointed to himself, then pointed to her. "What is your name?"

"_Je m'appelle Juliette_," she replied.

"Oh, that's very pretty," Fred said brightly. "Much like you are."

Juliette gave him a confused look, so he quickly racked his brain for the tidbits of French that he had managed to pick up from his new sister-in-law precisely for the occasion. "Er, _très jolie_?" He pointed at her once more, hoping that the broken French and added gesture would make her understand.

Her cheeks flushed a shade of pink that, in Fred's mind, somehow complemented her dress perfectly. "_Merci_," she said, sounding more timid than she had before.

Fred smiled widely at her, then realized that they had, disappointingly, reached one of the rows of chairs designated for Fleur's family. "Shall we dance at the party after this?" Again, he mimed as he spoke, and again, she nodded. "_Bon_!"

As she floated away, the skirt of her dress flowing in the warm summer breeze, Fred turned to find his twin. George was busy escorting another Veela cousin, but he smiled at Fred as he passed by.

"This is going to be some wedding, eh?" he muttered.

Fred nodded. Dozens of Weasleys, badass Order members, and breathtaking half-Veelas, _plus _copious amounts of alcohol? What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

Word count: 356


End file.
